Stop This Train
by demetrifever123
Summary: The lure of Santa Carla and all of its offerings shadowed youthful and naïve Sam's judgment and sight. Now he's facing the consequences for accepting the lifestyle so readily, and it's too late to regret. Sequel to Tell Me What I Can't See.
1. Stop This Train

**Hello, there! I know, I know, I've been sort of missing in action on here a little lately. Just a teensy bit. Ha—I actually feel sort of stupid. I mean, not posting anything I've written on here in so long, I feel like my skills have…dissipated. Hehe, I like that word. WELL. This is a sequel to Tell Me What I Can't See, since the back of my mind and my wonderful readers inspired me. I love you guys! If you haven't read the first one, it's recommended that you do, of course; things would just make a LOT more sense, you know? I mean, if you are feeling lazy at the moment and don't want to read over to see what you're missing out on (tehe, I'm just kidding…) just PM me and ask your questions (or leave them in a review) and I'll try and answer as simply as I can. Recap, though: this contains SLASH, and MPREG, and ALL that lovely stuff we couldn't live without! But yes, there is a reason this is rated M. I'm not just being on the safe side; I mean it when I say this isn't for half of you kiddies. I can't say you should turn around if you're under eighteen, since I don't even fit that category myself (I'm so naughty, I know!) but mature eyes only, I guess. Hehe. **

**A special shout-out to E.M. Morning for listening to my rambling and venting, and my jumbled and confused mess of ideas that I had to sort through. This I hadn't planned on posting so soon, but it's dedicated to you! XOXO. Lol.**

**Okay, so this is more of a prologue—or maybe I'm just calling it that because it's shorter than usual. Hm… Anyways, I'm shutting up now. Continue on, my dear readers! **

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><p>It was Michael's dream to have Sam's gift. How many bad situations could be avoided, wonders and questions answered before their time? How <em>amazing <em>would it be to know more than everyone else—instead of being labeled as the (to put it nicely) "slow" one most of the time? His little brother, however, saw it all differently, and Michael could see (but not understand fully) why.

Sam had been lost.

Picked on.

Discriminated against.

Confused.

_Insane_.

Even though the past was now all behind him, he could remember every minute—_second_—of it. He used to be very close to his older brother, telling and venting to him everything that happened he wasn't comfortable speaking to anyone else about. Michael had been Sam's one and only friend, and he thought it would last through life. Except, as fate entails and just loves to mess up poor Sam's life even more, he will be living through more lifetimes than he can even count. Quite literally, in Michael's case.

Michael had witnessed all of the hurt this "gift" had caused his baby brother, and he had protected him from anything that threatened his well-being; basically helping and guaranteeing whatever no one else gave a rat's ass about when it came to this fifteen-year-old.

He knew Sam's various situations—as well as he knew the back of his hand—and his sexuality was no big shock to him. Michael, though he didn't realize at the time, was the same way, just not to an extreme. Society claimed Sam's soul to be lost to the Devil himself when it became pretty obvious, and now Sam grasps that it doesn't matter who he crushes on, who he parties with or even has "relations" with; he's damned anyways, being the murderer he is.

Up until this point, Sam's life was dull and complicated, and no one would ever be interested in hearing it. Moving to Santa Carla was what had changed his life in more ways than one could ever imagine. He was accepted, his visions stopped being so sporadic, he had _friends, _and fell in _love. _All that unbelievably gushy stuff.

It was like a wonderful surprise—the best accident you could ask for. (You know how moms will say "Oh, honey, you're the best accident that has ever happened to us!" It's a lot like that.)

His new life was entertaining and full of new joys Sam had never experienced before. Smoking, drinking, drugs, sex… Although, he could immediately knock most of the things off that list because he didn't necessarily _enjoy _them.

But everything comes at a price, right?

David and his "gang," as people commonly referred to them as, weren't the only vamps in town. Sam and Michael had to kill people, on a regular basis and without emotion, or one would surely become very quickly depressed, which was a dangerous thing when life was eternal for you. Around the brothers, their friends had lives a lot like the beach girls on reality TV, what with all the drama, conflict, and wild emotions raging from being stuck in a hormonal body.

Hm. Take Marko, who may be Sam's most complicated friend, as a great example.

Short recap of him in general: bitter and sweet, sharp, unpleasant and fun (depending on the day), sexy but self-conscious (you can thank Paul for that), tough and stubborn but still feminine (just plain contradicting), and just…_the _most diverse person Sam has ever known. Now, Sam can't tie that to being a teenager and all right away, since he honestly doesn't know how old any of his friends are—except David—but it sounds better than labeling someone bi-polar automatically.

Yes, Sam's life has improved sevenfold, but that doesn't mean it's perfect. And you want to know what has _really _been kicking him in the ass lately, in terms of bothering him so much there are bags under his eyes?

His isn't close to his brother anymore. Like, at all.

Michael is either by Dwayne's side or fighting with David, and Sam can't even blame their downhill of a relationship on either Michael or Dwayne. Not when Sam has been doing the same thing, hanging out with Marko (whom Michael also isn't very fond of) and fawning over the leader of their group (a group that was more like a high-school clique). Fawning. That also brought up a bizarre, random memory of Paul, who for some reason thought that word was very, inexplicitly amused by Sam's "strange" word choice—he laughed for minutes on end when Sam had accused Marko of "fawning" over Guns 'n Roses' lead singer (_another_ funny story there…but for later). It seemed Sam's life was based off of raunchy humor and incidents, and then the more-than-occasional brooding stages that could last for a whole week before everything suddenly snapped back to "normal."

Normal.

Sam was standing on the edge of sudden death, swaying back and forth between reality, imagination, life_. _Life is what he would end up choosing every time. Always. Not much was keeping him here, but it was more than enough.

They told him it was possible to die twice. They said that's what happened to Max—not so much Sam's mother's situation. They said the blood left at the scene had been so great the death message couldn't be deciphered. They said it had been days before the bodies had been found, and it had been the mail carrier, smelling the unmistakable scent of blood and decay. They said the cause of death was impossible to determine.

They said, they said, they said.

He'd been there once before, so close to death it was unrealistic. With those sinful thoughts flowing through his head with such depressing vigor that Sam appeared to vibrate with them. He had been willing to do it for Michael, his brother. But would he do that again? Hell no. He wouldn't even think about doing something like that.

As aforementioned…being stuck in a teenager's body for what looks to be forever really sucks dick. And not even in a pleasant way.

Anyways—moving on to the here and now, shall we?

Sam was feeling sorry for himself, of course—and the only way a vampire could truly let out all of their emotions was by, basically, doing what vampires do.

He _killed._

It was relaxing afterwards, and the blood tasted so amazing it was sinful. Hell, it doesn't matter how good it tasted; _sinful _was what it was either way. Sam didn't feel regret the first few kills he went on in his little spree. However, he was doing this excessively. Just the smallest temptation and he would departure from his group and go off on his hunt. David told him people would begin to notice. Sam highly doubted it.

But the platinum blonde had been right.

So Sam just grumbled a little, sighed, and promised David to only kill with the rest of them from now on. It sounded simple, but it was as difficult as being addicted to drugs and then having them confiscated, with no way to get more. Sam wondered if refraining from feeding every night was even harder than that, actually.

That's why Sam's where he is now; bending over on the front porch of his old house to pick up a piece of paper that had been weighted down by a decent sized rock, so it wouldn't be swept away.

_Marko said you had a date._

_Just wanted you to know that I'll rip his throat out._

_David._

Sam tilted his head to the side, sighing, and couldn't help but smile slightly. Oh, David. David thought it was his fault that Sam had wanted to go to his old home, the one his grandfather used to live in, and just hang around there—remember things, possibly. Clear his head, because there was no way in hell he could do that with the five other boys around. David took it calmly (at first), like Sam was just bluffing and he wasn't going through with it. Sam said just for a week—give him a _week_—and he'd be fine and dandy. He wanted touch with himself, and his "gift," again. It had been one day already, and David was acting like Sam had left him completely.

He didn't even _have _a date. Marko wasn't lying, though—he was _teasing. _

Sam was brought out of his thoughts when there was a groan from behind him, from a young and bald man who had been a victim that night. It was an accident, honestly. Did I mention how hard it was to _not_ drink from humans, sometimes?

"Fuck," Sam mumbled to himself, and reached down again to wrap his arms around the man's shoulders (he was lying on his back right behind him, just coming out of it). He slid the much larger adult into his house with ease, shutting the door swiftly.

"You…whore," the dying civilian managed to choke out. Earlier Sam had bitten him, the truck driver, drank from him—but stopped himself. This would be too many missing people. More than usual. Sam had panicked instantly.

"I know, I know I am!" Sam said helplessly, kneeling down beside him. "But please, please, you can't die."

Sam hadn't even gotten his name, so he had no idea what to call him when his eyes started to roll in the back of his head. "No, wake up!" Sam shook him.

He didn't know what being had possessed him to do so, but in his eyes there was only one option, and he stared at his wrists. He wasn't thinking clearly, and his thoughts were all a mess. He could tell himself that as a poor excuse later.

Sam was crying, he realized, when he bit into his own wrists. He was almost mesmerized by the blood that began to flow freely from the wound, and before it could heal up right away he had squeezed his hand over the man's slightly parted mouth, hoping it would work. Sam barely even felt the pain, and within seconds there was no evidence that there had been a wound, other than the blood still clinging to his skin, which only frustrated him.

There was a soft knock at the door, and he just about jumped a mile.

_Please don't let it be the cops, please don't let it be the cops, _he chanted in his head. There was no reason he'd have the piggies on his doorsteps this late at night, so the worry was irrational, he realized.

It didn't matter who it was, though.

_I have to get rid of the _evidence, he thought. Easier said than done.

Sam looked all around him for an option, and found only the kitchen, his grandpa's taxidermy room (which had been emptied out, but it was still too out in the open for his liking), and…the basement. Eh, close enough to a dark closet.

He dragged the limp body across the floor, hoping there wouldn't be big blood steaks that led right into the lower portion of the house. He nudged it (_him, _he had to correct himself) onto the steps, wincing when the (hopefully not) dead man just ended up rolling all the way down and smacking the cold, concrete floor at the bottom.

Another knock, this one louder and more persistent, and Sam decided it would have to do, and softly shut the door. He tried wiping his bloody hands on his clothes as he made his way to the door to answer it. It was so obvious on his shirt because he always wore those ridiculously light colors, but it was the best he could do. (Taking off his shirt was _way _out of the question to him.)

There was no peephole, and there was no uncovered window he could use to take a look as to who it was, so Sam opened the door with caution, sticking his face by the crack of it warily. He felt ten times relieved when he saw it was only David, standing there with his hands in his pockets and looking irritated. Sam opened the door a little wider. A little.

"Come home." Short and straight to the point: that was David.

"Why?" He was feeling a little on edge. Of course, David (Sam wished, but David had _refused _to let Sam call him his boyfriend) had picked up on the wistful tone.

"The house if for sale."

"I know."

"What if someone comes and tours it during the day?" Huh. Honestly, Sam hadn't thought about that. He was mostly in a stressed out mood when he made the last-minute and poorly thought out decision to come here. He went silent. David was right. "When you didn't answer, I thought—"

_Oh, _hell _no. _No way was the platinum blonde going to bring up the whole "I thought you were with someone else" guilt-trip again. Sam cut him off before he could even finish his sentence.

"What, you don't trust me?" he asked incredulously, feeling offended. "I got your note, by the way. You need to learn how to take a _joke_."

"I do trust you," said David a little too quickly. "It's those slimy _humans _that I don't."

"I can take care of myself," Sam mumbled, looking down at the boards that made up the porch with his arms crossed over his chest.

"And I can take a joke," David added defensively. "This just isn't _funny _to me."

Sam didn't add some sort of cocky reply to that—he wasn't good with that sort of thing. Pity.

David repeated himself. "Come _home_, Sam."

"I will in a week."

"No you won't."

"What?"

"I said no you won't."

"I _heard_ you, David."

"Good. Now come back."

Sam was silent for a beat. "Fine," Sam grumbled as he caved, his teeth clenched hard and hands curled into fists. Well, he couldn't lie and say that he _wouldn't_ miss David—and he definitely couldn't hold his ground against him. It was even harder than trying to get Paul to believe he wasn't fit to drive after a night of hard-core drinking and smoking. Except David was like this all the time. "But only if I get to have a dog."

David raised an eyebrow at the seemingly random request. Yeah, Sam liked dogs…but it was hard to find a dog that liked _vampires_. "Fine," he said after a moment of enduring Sam's pleading face. He sighed.

"Yes!" David rolled his eyes, and Sam was hopping with joy. He leapt forward and wrapped his arms around David's neck. His bike was parked in the dirt driveway, and both of the boys were settled on within seconds.

The loud roaring of the motorcycle interrupted the silence of the night, but Sam was used to the sound by now. He rested his chin on David's leather-clad shoulder, his mood and goals suddenly flipped around entirely. Raging hormones, remember?

Speaking of remembering…

Sam could have sworn he was forgetting something.


	2. What's This Life For

**Lo and behold, everyone, I have completed chapter two, as well as doing it **_**on time. **_**At least…I **_**think **_**it's on time… What day did I last update? *takes a looker* Oh, well… Okay, so I'm a day late, but guess what? :o I can across a little problem with this, after I started adding stuff to touch it up. The chapter was too **_**long. **_**Just about 5,000 words, actually. But then the problem I came across with **_**that, **_**was where I should split it up. So these are normal chapters in length (meh…2,500 or so words… :P) but I'm posting TWO of them. Woohoo! :D Thanks for all of the reviews in that last chapter! :)**

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><p>"I'm <em>so <em>bored," Sam complained, his head falling off the side of the big bed, viewing a reading Dwayne from upside-down. "How can you read so much?" he asked him.

"How can you still _read_," Marko countered with a small smile. His knees were pulled up to his chest on the same bed as Sam, and he was making a new pair of earrings—his last pair mysteriously disappeared, and then reappeared on Sam's ears. Whatever. "I think I forgot how."

Dwayne snorted but didn't say anything. He went on reading, hardly fazed.

Sam tried to read what the cover was but wasn't able to, considering his right-side-down position. He turned onto his stomach, and read aloud, "_Firestarter."_

"It sure is a big ass book," Marko muttered to himself. "That's Stephen King for you…"

"Where'd you even get that?" Sam asked curiously, eyebrows drawn down.

Dwayne replied coyly, "I confiscated it."

"Is it any good?" Sam asked conversationally. He was so bored beyond belief that he would even settle for reading a huge novel, even though before he had always preferred comic books. Plus, he didn't get to talk to Dwayne often; they didn't have very much in common. Well, Sam didn't even know _that _much about Dwayne, which could tell you a lot. Maybe his brother's companion just favored silence and solitude?

Possibly. But Sam's wild imagination led him to believe the reason was on a more personal level.

Dwayne shrugged in response to his question. "I guess," he said indifferently. "It takes a while to get into it."

Sam tilted his head to the side, wanting a further explanation, and Marko went to answer it without even having to look up from his crafting to know that Sam was confused. Talk about intuitive.

"Ever read a King novel?" he asked. Sam shook his head no, sitting up on the bed straighter. "Ugh, it's torture," he went on tactlessly. "You have no idea where the plot is going until you're more than halfway through it. And not the mention the million words I don't understand that appear in _every sentence." _Marko sighed. "I always did hate my English teachers."

Sam had always hated _all _of his teachers.

There was a silence, in which Sam started to sprawl himself across the slightly ripped and worn out sheets again, sighing and thinking of something else to say to start up some conversation. And not a _boring _one.

He came up with nothing too brilliant.

"So," he began. "What's up?" Marko usually had something juicy going on. Well, it seemed that way, anyways.

Marko had just finished his earrings (finally) and set them aside before sitting up and looking at Sam intently. "Sam," he began thoughtfully. "I think I might be gay."

Sam's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, and over in his chair, Dwayne's dark eyebrows sky-rocketed. "Since when?" the young blonde asked disbelievingly.

"I don't know," Marko said weakly, his façade thick. "But I'm really scared. How am I going to tell my boyfriend?"

Sam was never the best actor, and he cracked in that instant and burst out laughing. This was the highlight of his week.

"That's not funny," Dwayne said gravely.

Marko rolled his eyes. "Sure it is. You just don't get it 'cause you never had parents who wanted another baptism for you again when you came out."

Sam could have sworn he heard the faintest thought in the background that said, a little sadly, _Because I never had parents to tell._

There was a long, eerie silence.

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><p>Tacky, much?<p>

Sam sighed, bending down to pick the creased fraction of paper up off the bed. This couldn't be more threats, could it? If Marko had told David again that Sam had a date…

But no, he thought, as he flipped it open with enough force that he almost ripped it in half. It was three lines, but as he scanned forward a bit, there was no "I'll rip him limb from limb" line. But that didn't mean it was a _friendly _letter, either. Well, David never _was_ one for words…

"_Sam— I know things are pretty crazy right now." _

Uh-huh.

"_And you have lots of reasons to be upset." _

Damn straight.

"_But honestly, is the silent treatment necessary?" _

_Wow. _Sam crumpled up the piece of paper, chucking it to a random place on the floor. _That's some apology letter, David. _Why not just send him some flowers that say, "Roses are red, violets are blue. I love you and I'm sorry. Except not really." Actually, that would be better because Sam liked flowers, in fact, and paper smelled really funny mixed with his strong sense of smell. Even still, that poem didn't rhyme like it should.

Was he really that kind of a person? David couldn't _confront _Sam about it—he had to _write a letter. _In this case, it might not even be that bad to send someone from the group to translate his message. But _no. _

As Dwayne would say (well, he'd think it, at least) sometimes, "Oh _hell _no."

Two weeks. It had been two weeks after the "incident" (as it was discreetly called but everyone _but _Paul, who liked to just call it "You know…that, that _thing_…with Marko and Sam…Yeah, you know what I'm talking about?") with Wes's gang, and exactly ten days after Lucy and Max mysteriously died. Sam had taken out his frustration on David, of course, because the platinum blonde just didn't _understand _any of Sam's feelings. It made Sam wonder just how long it had been since David was human.

Plus, he still hadn't gotten that damn dog yet.

Sam glanced into the vanity mirror, trying to figure out if he liked his new looks or not. His hair was lighter, along with his skin, and it always looked like he was wearing some sort of very light makeup around his eyes—dark circles and lids, like he always found endearing on the others. He closed his eyes and sighed, and when he opened them he wasn't the only reflection in the mirror—Marko was standing right behind him. "Are you guys still fighting?" Marko asked accusingly, sighing himself, which let a cool breeze brush Sam's neck. His skin prickled. "Come on," he said, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to nuzzle his neck or something of the sort. He always thought it was strange how his friend held a such a sensual pose around people a lot of the time—and maybe that was a reason why Michael wasn't too fond of him; he made him feel uncomfortable. Everyone but Paul, it seemed, witnessed and experienced this, and it never looked like that bothered the tall blonde much. "I think we have to talk," he finished, finding Sam's hand and grasping it before tugging him along.

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><p>"Have you guys even <em>talked <em>about it yet?" Marko asked incredulously, kicking sand with his feet as he walked.

"No…Well, he wrote me a letter," Sam replied sadly, looking down at the sand and never looking up to see Marko's expression. "He thinks there isn't much of a reason for me to be angry…and he still won't tell me what's been up lately."

"Did he at least apologize in it? The letter, I mean." Sam didn't answer and just shrugged, worrying his lip. "_Sam_."

"What? Do you want _me _to apologize to _him?" _he asked, lifting his gaze and throwing his arms out.

"David doesn't apologize," Marko said, shaking his head. "He may want to, but he won't."

"And how do you know that? Maybe…maybe he will." If only he was really that sure.

"Maybe." They were silent for a minute, just walking shoulder-to-shoulder across the beach, lost in thought.

"So I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and—. " Sam began, but was cut off.

"Don't. Don't keep thinking all the time—you're doing too much of that. It'll drive you insane, trust me." Sam kept his mouth shut, forgetting about what he was going to say and falling back into another brief silence.

"Um…How long has it been, now?" he asked casually, but still making sure to be pretty wary. Offending people (Marko, of all of them, who Sam has learned does not take offensive things very lightly) was not on his list of things to do.

"What?" Marko asked in confusion. "Oh! That. Uh…I don't know, I think maybe a year now, actually."

"_Really_?" Sam was shocked; he knew it had been some time now, but that _that _long. Marko laughed a little and nodded. "What's taking so long?" He asked it as soon as he thought it.

"Honestly, Sam, I have no idea," Marko replied.

"But you don't—you don't look it _at all." _He was still confused; Marko was still as thin as the day he first met him.

"Isn't that a good thing? Then I won't look like—" He stopped midsentence abruptly and stopped walking, a tremor running up his spine, a whispered sentence in his head.

"Whoa," Sam said, stopping and eyeing him cautiously. "What was _that_?"

"Ah…I have to go," Marko said, biting his lip and looking behind them briefly. Sam followed his gaze: no one was there.

"Uh, okay?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Go where?"

Marko smiled cheekily. "Someone's calling," he said playfully, wiggling his fingers in a very effeminate goodbye.

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><p>For so many years David had relied on his supernatural skills to get his way. No one so far has asked why he had brought them here—why he was showing them this object; it had no relevance to them, in their views. But David had a <em>very <em>good reason why.

Most of them hadn't even _seen _a gun up close before, and Sam refused to stare at it, in fear it would go off just by that. It was placed very delicately on the newly broken into business, black and small, but still intimidating. Paul, much unlike Sam, and going against the warnings, was having his own stare-down with it, bent over with his face pressed close up against it. "Go ahead. Touch it," Marko dared, staying mostly behind Sam for protection in case it went off.

"Relax," David snapped. "The safety's on."

"Are you sure…?" Paul asked, tilting his head to the side and reaching out to pick it up. Sam winced a little, trying to take a step back but bumping into Marko. They began pushing each other around, each one trying to get behind the other, when Paul had picked it up fully, testing the weight in his hand. "How does this thing work, anyways?"

He turned it around so it was aimed right at his face, looking down the barrel. "Sheesh," Dwayne said. "Turn that thing around." He didn't know too much about guns, but he was pretty sure that was a _huge _no-no for gun-handling. Paul reacted to that too suddenly for their liking, turning around while holding the gun loosely in his hand, waving it. Everyone jumped back, crouching down a little, and Paul turned it upwards so it faced the ceiling now.

"What?" he asked innocently, seeing them all covering their faces with their arms, crouched down low. "Don't worry, the safety's on." Just like David had said before. "See?" He curled his finger, pulling back on the trigger, to show them that. But everyone was surprised by a loud bang that emitted from the gun, seeing a quick flash and particles from the ceiling falling onto the floor.

"Goddammit!" David growled. "Put that down!"

"Hey, you said the safety was on!" Paul accused, ditching the gun like it was a bad habit, watching as it slid across the counter.

"I didn't think you'd do _that_!" the platinum blonde countered, standing up fully again, the others slowly following.

And then the yelling went on and on, and once it started to get boring, the others started to file out of the closed store. Breathing in the fresh, cold air outside, Sam sighed, pulling Marko along with him in a random direction, walking down the dark, empty street side by side.

"Boys," Sam sighed, shaking his head. Marko snorted, smiling lightly. "You know…" He trailed off, stopping there, thinking if he should really say it. Would it be offensive? he wondered. _Oh, Jesus, stop worrying about that._

"What?" Marko asked curiously as they continued to walk slowly, aimlessly.

"I would have never thought you guys to be, like…" Sam fought for the right word, twisting his face up in thought. "Um…what's the word…"

"Not exclusive?" the curly blonde offered. Sam opened his mouth to say something again—probably an apology. "Yeah, you're not the first to say that," he said, laughing a little. Sam didn't mean anything by it, he knew, but somehow…that still bothered him, no matter if only one person knew or _all of them _did.

The younger of the two decided to correct himself a little. "I mean, you just look like friends, is all. Only friends. Well, _good _friends—very good friends. Close. Wait, no, I don't—"

"What." This time it didn't sound as much of a question, and it wasn't an innocent, curious word. Sam stopped his babbling immediately. They stopped their walking. "What are you getting to, Sam."

The fifteen-year-old stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather the right words in his head this time before just saying something, so he didn't up stuttering all the way to his point. "How…how often do you…?" Sam leaned in towards him more, like there was a bunch of people around and he didn't want them overhearing. "Um, you know…"

"Have sex?" Marko finished for him bluntly, loudly. Sam winced, wondering why he would ask such a thing in the first place. He quickly reminded himself, though, and tried to stay on topic. He nodded. "That depends on your definition," the taller of the two said, beginning to walk again. Sam followed him, quickly getting in sync with his steps.

"…All the way," Sam said meekly.

"Oh." A small silence followed as Marko thought and then hesitated on that one, before answering, "Then…I don't know, it's not like I count."

"Really?" He couldn't help the worried tone of voice in that one word, his eyebrows rising and pulling together, like on the inside that answer had killed a part of him. "Um, how far stretched are you talking about?" Sam tried to shake the feelings off, returning to his normal question-asking self. Curious Sam. Yup, that's him.

Marko sighed. "Why are you even asking?" He turned to look at Sam, who looked embarrassed now, his cheeks turning red as he kept his gaze down. His thoughts betrayed him. "Sammy—"

"I just want to know for sure, okay?" Sam yelled abruptly, and they stopped walking again as they took a step back from each other. "You would want to know, too, if you were in my position," he pointed out, getting angry at himself for getting so jealous and emotional about a thing like this.

"No, I'm not telling you any more than you already know, okay," Marko bit back.

"Okay," he said. "But you say it was so long ago and…" He let out a deep breath he had been holding in.

"I never said that. And in _your_ position? Are you kidding me? Just what are you even talking about, Sam?"

Sam narrowed his eyes but thought about that. Were they even on the same page? "What are _you _talking about?" he asked slowly.

"It's none of your damn business what _I_ do! I don't go around wanting to know every detail about you and David, because I don't care!"

"I just asked about you and Paul," Sam said through clenched teeth, his hands curled into fists at his side.

"No you didn't," Marko snapped. Sam raised a single eyebrow.

"What?"

They were quiet for a moment, scrutinizing each other. _What's he_ talking_ about? _Sam wondered.

"What?" Marko copied. "Never mind." He was backing away slowly, swaying from side to side and desperate to get away.

"No," Sam said. "What were you talking about? What did you think _I _was talking about? No, don't leave! Tell me!" he whined, rising to the tips of his toes as Marko left, yelling a final, "Never mind, Sam!" after him. Sam pouted for a minute before slinking down the sidewalk the opposite way Marko had gone, feeling slightly dejected.


	3. Buried Alive

"Sam's gone. I thought you might wanna know," Marko said bluntly when he had reached the guys again. Of course, as soon as David saw Sam wasn't with him he was about to ask about it, but Marko had beaten him to it.

"What?" The unbelievable amount of exasperation in that one word was enough to make Michael wince.

"I said," Marko said very slowly, "that Sam is-"

"Where did he go?" David demanded. His response was a shrug.

"How should _I_ know? He didn't follow me back, and I wasn't going to chase back after him to see where he went." David had straightened up and was glaring daggers down at Marko, who seemed to not really notice the look; he was examining his nails.

"You let him go?" he growled. "Why? Why would do that? You _know _how dangerous that is!"

"How is that dangerous? You've been letting him out of your sight all week, hypocrite. It's not _my _fault you can't keep track of your boyfriend."

David raised a long, boney and white finger at him, biting back most of his anger. He looked like he was about to say something—probably along the line of incredibly nasty—but no words could come out.

"I could help find him," Michael offered, speaking up finally.

"No," David said. "You're all staying here."

"He's been off on his own before," Dwayne pointed out. "Why is it so different this time?" David was silent for a minute, and all eyes were on him.

"_Because_," he said, stressing the word and putting strict malevolence in his tone, "I saw them yesterday."

"Saw who?" Paul asked. Michael could already feel some sort of cool unease settle on his insides. He thought he already knew the answer to that.

"_Them_," David spat. "Those other mother fucking vampires lurking around."

"And _when _were you planning on telling us this?" Dwayne asked, getting angry towards him. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes, as he leaned back against a wooden beam.

"I didn't think it was such a big deal to you," he hissed.

"So basically the 'I didn't wannna worry you' crap," Dwayne summarized. "Look, why would they want anything to do with us, anyways? It's not like they could benefit from us. We don't own much, we have _zero _connections…"

"Sure they could profit," said Marko. "If they know what Sam can do-"

"But they don't," the brunette pointed out.

"And I want it to stay that way," their leader finalized.

* * *

><p><em>Stupid. You're stupid. They're all too bipolar or careless to give a shit about you. Why did you even give away so much to them in t he first place? Oh yeah, because it was <em>taken, _not given up. And you let them…_

Sam shook his thoughts away: they were too angry and he couldn't stop accusing everyone and himself for all the unpleasant things lately. He knew it wasn't true. He _knew _David was sorry about acting like he wasn't effected from Max's death, about being cross with Sam when he was mourning his mother's loss. Michael really did pay attention to his little brother; he also happened to be deeply _in love. _And Marko… Sam had fought with him before, mostly over dumb things like "You pushed me out of a tree!" and "You are not fucking fat!" This time it was a little different, but Marko was good at pushing his emotions away after a little bit.

It would all go away.

Eventually.

Sam pulled his jacket tight around his torso, a habit since he knew it was cold outside, and wondered how long he would walk and how far he would go. He knew he would have to go back, at least find a secure place to stay during the day, or he'd perish, basically. He was considering turning around when he heard it—obnoxious hollering from men both in front of and behind him. Sam could tell by smelling the air and hearing how much they slurred that they had had too much to drink. No one else was around, and Sam couldn't tell if they were just shouting to each other or fighting.

As a quick, heat of the moment thought, he cut down an alley as soon as it opened up at his right, thinking he could easily scale a building or jump a fence if the men followed him; they'd be too drunk to be able to tell a believable story about it. His plan went down the drain when he saw some _more_ strangers ahead.

_Just my luck. _

At first they looked like just plain teenage boys, and they kind of reminded him of _his _friends, except there were more of them—around ten or so. They appeared to be just hanging out in a dark alley really late at night, doing things Sam didn't care to know. His eyes adjusted and his night-vision kicked in. He could swear he had seen them from somewhere before—he just couldn't exactly recall where. Of course, right away someone noticed him and tapped on another's shoulder to signal Sam's presence. Sam swallowed and took a step back, ultimately bumping square into someone else. A foul-smelling liquid splashed out of a glass bottle as it hit the ground, breaking with an ear-shattering crash, thanks for his highly sensitive ears.

He winced. _Ouch._

The drunk, middle-aged man stared down at what was once his alcohol, and then looked back up at Sam accusingly. "What the fuck?" he shouted, wiping his hands in his shirt. His buddies had joined around, and the man pushed Sam backwards roughly.

_Run, _was Sam's first thought and instinct. _Get out of here. _But his legs locked in place and he felt weak. He had no motivation or strength to fight back, and he found that scary; normally he knew he'd be able to kill them all before they could even raise an arm to defend themselves. "You spilled my drink," he said gruffly.

The man shoved him again, this time bringing his knee up into contact with Sam's ribs in addition, knocking the air out of him for a moment as he doubled over in pain against the wall. He could see a fist being raised and prepared himself for another hit, closing his eyes and putting his arms up to cover his face instinctively. He heard another yell and the blow never came. There were horrible and sickening ripping sounds, like fabric being torn apart. Confused, Sam opened his eyes. His mouth dropped.

There were layers of black covering the sidewalk, along with halves and parts of the men (or what was left of them) lying amongst the mess. The teenage boys in the alley Sam had seen—_vampires_—were standing there, chests heaving while they were covered in blood. Two of them had opened up a dumpster lid already and were hauling the corpses into it carelessly.

"What-?" Sam began, not able to help but stare. One turned to face him, and somehow, unlike the others, his clothes were completely spotless. Sam cringed away from him when he saw his face, as if he'd just been slapped. Too bad brick walls couldn't move, or Sam would have darted out of there immediately. Oh, how badly he wanted to disappear.

He felt broken shards of mixed emotions upon seeing his face again, but in the end, one was dominant over the others: rage. And his name—God, his name sounded more bitter than ever in his head when he thought it. Sam didn't realize he was clenching his hands until his elongated finger nails cut into his palm, drawing tiny drops of blood.

There were so many questions he was dying to ask: why, why, why? But of all of them, one in particular came out before he intended it to: "You killed them." Okay, so maybe it wasn't a question at all.

Wes just tilted his head to the side a fraction of a degree, and Sam didn't miss a single movement he made. "Yes," he said lightly, curiously—like Sam had just confused him to some extent. "They were hurting you."

_Well, thank you, rocket scientist. What am I thinking right now? _

"Easy on the sarcasm," Wes said with a cheeky grin.

"Stay out of my head," Sam warned in a low voice. He cursed himself for the falter in his warning; the crack in his voice towards the end. Wes just grinned away, and Sam, in turn, wondered what he was thinking. _I probably don't want to know…_

But…curiosity killed the cat.

Sam had reached into peoples' minds on accident before (and every time he discovered things he could go a lifetime without knowing, like the fact that Paul peels everyone's clothes off constantly with his eyes, which Sam had gotten a _very _good visual of), but only a few times on count he had purposely done it. It wasn't very hard any of those times, so Sam continued what he was doing—staring at Wes without blinking—and reached out with his mind into the other's. And…

Nothing.

He pushed harder, more forcefully, but he just got an even stronger rebound. It was the same as willing the brick wall that Sam was pressed against to move. "You're welcome," We said. "For saving you."

"You didn't have to kill them," Sam said lifelessly. Wes only cocked an eyebrow at that, in a way that reminded him of David.

_No._

"They were hurting you," he repeated. "And you weren't defending yourself?" He raised his voice at the end, turning it into a question. A strange one, at that. Sam opened his mouth to snap a smartass remark he had in his head, but he couldn't form any words. Instead his mouth opened and closed for a moment, like a fish's.

_Jesus, he's right._

Sam hadn't attempted to defend himself, no matter how capable he was of doing it. Why? "I wondered how long it would be before I saw you again," Wes went on casually. His little gang (although Sam shouldn't call it "little," since it was double the size of David's) had finished cleaning up their mess, and now they were all walking around in circles aimlessly, waiting, staying relatively close to their leader. By looking over Wes's shoulder for a split second, Sam could tell some of them were paying really close attention to their conversation, if you could even call it that. Sam remained silent and highly uncomfortable, mostly because he didn't know what Wes was getting at. "This is a good thing."

_How? _he wanted to ask.

"Aren't you gonna say anything?"

"You tried to rape me," Sam choked out.

"Oh, that." _Yeah, _that, Sam thought snidely. Wes waved a dismissive, gloved hand. _"That _was not attempted rape, my dear." Sam winced at being called that. "We had both been drinking, you more than I, and you just interpreted the situation wrong," he explained plainly.

_That's a lie, he's lying. _"I'm telling only the truth," Wes insisted. Sam tried to block him out of his mind, to put up a wall that secured his thoughts, but apparently it wasn't working.

"Wes," a boy said, getting his attention. Wes turned his head to the side half-heartedly, not even fully attempting to look directly at whoever he was speaking to.

"Yes?" he asked in a light, sing-song voice that, again, guiltily reminded Sam of David when he was just beginning to get impatient with someone. _Dammit, stop that!_

"We need to go. Candy just called." Recently, it had started to become obvious to Sam that when vampires said someone had called, they had touched them with their mind. Pretty convenient, actually. "She said somethin' ain't right and we should go home 'immediately.'"

"She always says that," drawled out someone else from a tad bit farther away; his voice sounded more distant than the others'.

"She says this time she's serious, though." Sam wasn't sure what they were talking about, and he most definitely was not going to ask.

Wes sighed and his head rolled around as he laid his eyes on Sam again, acting as if it saddened him to have to leave. "Do me a favor," he said, before leaning forwards and putting his hands on either side of Sam's head on the bricks, his mouth close to Sam's ear, trapping him. He whispered in a threatening, teasing manner, "Don't tell our beloved about this. Our meeting will be a little secret. And I'll be seeing you again, soon." He backed away, grinning like a maniac with a dangerous glint to his eyes. He put a finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture, taking ghostly steps away until him and his gang had disappeared into the shadows, one by one.


	4. Candy Says

**Thanks to all of you reviewers for your support! :D I do have more alerts than I do reviews, so I'd just like to say to not be shy. :) Really, I don't bite; and you can be anonymous, too. I try to get around to replying to all of you guys, but if I don't, it's probably because I either didn't see it, lost it on accident (my e-mail is hectic), or it was anonymous. Since I couldn't thank those, I'll do so now! And I know it's been a while since I updated, but I've been writing a lot for my other stories—I've got a lot of them, on other websites, and a few just sitting on my computer, unread by everyone but moi. **

**There's also going to be more and more dark themes in this, probably... But I'm thinking there will be more _references_ than actual scenes of that nature. Since you have all been reading this so far just fine, and the first story (I hope?), that shouldn't be a problem. :P **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

><p>He ran.<p>

A simple statement. And oh, did he _run_; as fast as his little legs could carry him, arms pumping and unnecessary air circulating in and out of his lungs—Sam knew it was just out of habit, of course. He could run for miles without needing one ounce of air or a single breather.

He didn't know which direction he was going—whether it was towards home or father away from it—and it didn't even matter. He desperately wished it was possible for him to run off all of his resentment and regret; by working it all off like he normally would. But as he kicked his heels into the ground and swung his arms as he ran, he remembered that he did not have an existing heart beat anymore; he didn't feel the normal strain of running down block after block without any pause. All he felt was the wind blowing his thin shirt around. And even then, he couldn't sense warmth or coolness from it. It was just _there. _

The street lights were the only things that seemed to be providing light. Well, not really; the sky was getting ever so slightly lighter every passing minute. Dawn.

_Of course, _he thought cynically.

_Sam._

Sam inwardly flinched, as if he could get away from the voice—_his _voice. "Leave me alone," he breathed to himself, pressing on.

_Where the fuck are you?_

The bitterness in David's voice was enough to cut through his mind, and for a moment Sam felt guilty. How could David _not _care where he was? Especially since Sam's skin was tingling faintly from the slowly but surely rising sun—only a few hours away.

_Sam!_

_I'm coming, _he thought, trying to reassure David, but failing at even reassuring _himself. _

His footwork was becoming sloppy and uneven, and his legs started wobbling, but not because he was tired. No, he could run for miles and miles and not break a sweat, thanks to his…new and improved self. He could feel David's voice probing in his mind, asking him where he was and what he was doing, what he was thinking, and Sam had no answer. The voice became louder, as if it was coming from a closer range, and Sam tripped, or slipped—over what, he didn't know—and came cascading down ungracefully. The pavement came in contact with the palms of his hands as he braced himself, and struck his knees and elbow painfully. If they were scraped and bloody, it would take only several minutes for them to be completely healed, he knew. Props to being a vampire. Whoopee.

Strong arms wrapped around his body, pulling him up off of the ground with ease, firm but gentle as always; he would always recognize this touch. As much as he normally would have appreciated it, right now the last thing he wanted was to talk to David.

"Get away," Sam choked out, giving a futile attempt to push David away.

"Sam, what's wrong?" he asked as gently as possible, but the strong demand was still evident in his voice. The sobbing that racked through the small blonde's chest and tears flooding his vision was enough to alarm him. That and the fact he smelled different. Like he had been around someone else who David didn't know. And whoever it was, the person hadn't been human.

"I'm sorry" was all Sam said as his legs gave out and he clung onto David like his life depended on it. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>"Do you think Sam's all right?" asked Michael, breaking the tight, awkward silence that fell upon them all every time there was nothing to be said. Or at least it was uncomfortable to <em>him; <em>Dwayne didn't seem very bothered by it.

Dwayne didn't look up from his reading. "Every time you ask that," he said, his head bent deeply so he could see the words clearly, "I say the same thing."

"Yeah, but—" Michael didn't know how to finish.

"I know as much as anyone else does, even though you seem to think I have an extra pair of eyes watching what everyone does." Michael scowled.

"You don't look very worried over there," he accused, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking further into the couch, focusing his eyes on the messy floor. Now Dwayne looked up, his gaze drifting over to Michael, who was doing something very close to pouting.

"You think I don't care?" He raised a dark eyebrow.

"Well, I…" Michael didn't finish his sentence, and suddenly Dwayne was crouched down by his feet, looking up with his brown eyes intently.

"Michael," he said gently. Mike's mouth shut instantly, and he was all ears; Dwayne had that effect. "Words can't describe what I feel for you, what we have. Not even those shitty poetry books that everyone loves." Michael couldn't help but smile a little. "And I can't…lose you. Because of this." Dwayne looked pained, his brows drawn down, creasing his forehead and adding years to his face.

"Because of what?"

"All of this with Sam and David fighting constantly. I don't think anything drastic will happen, but they have major issues recently…and so do the rest of them." Paul and Marko. Michael understood that much, as well as the part about Sam and mullet-boy. However, he hoped they would just split up. Sam would obviously be happier, in Michael's opinion.

"You think…this will affect us, too," Michael concluded. It wasn't a question. Dwayne nodded after a moment.

"I love you. And I think that _maybe…" _He took a breath and was about to finish his statement, but they were interrupted with a big crash as noisy objects tumbled over, and both of their heads whipped around to see Paul standing there, looking taken aback and slightly guilty.

"I, uh… I was just—" He tripped over something else as he pointed with his thumb in a vague direction that meant nowhere in particular. "There's a new place downtown, and—"

"We'll be there, Paul," Dwayne said after he and Michael exchanged a knowing look.

* * *

><p>"Three…two..."<p>

"Dammit, I need more time!" exclaimed Paul, hitting his fist on his leg in frustration.

Everyone sighed and lost their stiff, ready posture; Michael let go of the door handle. "What?" he asked impatiently.

"My hair isn't right," he whined, appearing to be both smoothing and fluffing said hair, doing his best guesswork since he had no mirror. Not that he would be able to see his reflection clearly if he did anyways.

"I think it's ironic how they turn a former humble video store into…this," Marko said, regarding the building with disinterest.

What had been once Max' video store was now obviously designed for only night usage; there were boarded up windows; the door looked run-down and cheap; the paint on it was chipped, flaking, and showing the eaten-away wood underneath. They were attempting to go in through the back, too, so the alley was dirty and smelled like cat piss.

The boys could feel the vibrations of the music coming from inside—the pounding bass that gave a sensual feel to what must lie in there. The sign in neon red above their heads red the name "Nixx's" in flashing letters. It also appeared to be missing the word "Girls" underneath it, but they could be mistaken. There was a long line of waiting people down the sidewalk in the front, waiting for admission inside; which was why Dwayne, Michael, Paul and Marko had decided to go a different route.

The only reason they were going in to begin with: its name was all over Santa Carla, being talked about constantly by a good chunk of people. It was almost as popular as the boardwalk in the summer. It was still unclear what purpose it served (A bar? A club? Strip club?), but the sign out front had had something scrawled on it about girls and their performances—"Macy" and her "one and only appearance"—so quite possibly the latter assumption.

"Damn, this place is pretty packed for something that's only been open for a _week," _Dwayne observed by pressing his ear against the door.

"Word spreads fast," Marko pointed out.

"Apparently," mumbled Michael, kicking an empty, crushed beer can with his foot.

"Are we really gonna go in there?" Marko asked, not able to hide the nervousness in both his voice and the way he held himself. There were plenty of reasons why they shouldn't. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Really?"

All of their attention suddenly snapped into focus and their heads whipped around to see the unknown girl who had just spoken in a soft, sweet, and curious voice. She was smiling lightly, regarding them thoughtfully. "Oh, hello," she greeted, not really noticing how none of them seemed pleased by her presence—and butting into their conversation. "This is an employee-only entrance. I couldn't help but notice how none of you seem to…fall under that category. Although," she added, "if you _wanted _to get hired…"

Of course, she wasn't the least bit intimidating, with slightly tanned skin and bleach blonde hair that was pulled out of her face, split into two piggy tails that fell down in front of her—down her tight, revealing shirt. Under the glowing red light her eyes appeared purplish, leading one to believe that they were normally blue. She was wearing lots of light-colored makeup, as well; probably to accentuate her apparent innocence.

She could be a hooker, but then not really; her curves were too tiny and her bosom wasn't substantial enough. Plus, she looked like she could be as young as Sam or Marko, considering the only thing that made her look grown-up was how she was dressed.

And apparently Paul was in love.

The others tensed slightly and just watched her apprehensively. "Where does it say _that?" _Michael asked, breaking the short silence.

"It's common sense." She gave a little giggle, and then placed a hand just underneath her mouth shyly. "And that door is locked; I have a key." She raised a slender arm, presenting the singular key she had been holding.

Either she was really dumb or just naïve, Dwayne thought. You didn't flaunt your personal keys around in the faces of strangers—not expecting them to be taken, at least. Actually, the only thing in the way of one of them from ripping her keys from her fingers and sneaking inside was, simply, her smile. She was just smiling away at them like she was just so confident in the outcome of this; nothing could go wrong. It made you wonder.

She was more shy than tentative. But maybe, Dwayne thought, she wasn't shy at all. Maybe she was just _weird. _He exchanged a meaningful glance with the others—excluding Paul, who was practically drooling. She wasn't that pretty, was she? wondered Marko.

"We're not interested in a job," he said, remaining stoic and impassive as always. She shrugged.

"Suit yourselves. You should be flattered, though." The young girl winked playfully and stepped forwards, resulting in her stilettos clicking against the ground and the boys clearing out of her way, allowing her access to the door. And, not surprisingly, she turned her back to them no problem.

Naïve, he finally decided. Young and innocent. Other than the fact that she was dressed up like a stripper. Or, as Paul had informed them a while ago, an "entertainer," as they apparently preferred to be called.

She unlocked the door and peeked at them from over her shoulder. "Are you coming or what?"

* * *

><p>Dwayne didn't know what he had expected, but this wasn't it.<p>

He knew that if a human was here, which there definitely was—more than half of the guests, actually—it would be hard to see, with the dim, neon glows as lighting. The music and bass would be all around them, along with beautiful people dancing in a dirty and sensual manner: The perfect club.

But Dwayne could see past this—the façade. He was able to drown out the music, see clearly even with the poor lighting. He was focused on the guests, the exits (there were only two), and the conversations going on.

Paul seemed to be in a daze, of course, and Marko looked antsy, probably in a hurry to leave. Michael looked over at his mate in trepidation, feeling uncomfortable and sticking within a few feet of Dwayne. Half Dwayne's attention was focused on his group's whereabouts, while the rest was zoning in on thoughts and the mixture of shouted and softly spoken words. And what did he find?

Almost half of the patrons at the "club" were thinking about blood.

The young girl who had let them in had briefly disappeared, and when he spotted her again she was conversing with a dark-haired brunette, looking over at them every now and then, which only led Dwayne to believe they were the topic of conversation. Or, more likely, gossip.

Suddenly, as it all began to sink in, he couldn't blame Paul for following the humans around like a lovesick puppy; they were all intoxicating, as if especially picked out and let in…

Maybe.

Even though there was the feel of underlying danger hanging in the air and setting off alarm sounds, Dwayne wanted to stay. It'd be better if he knew exactly what was going on here—and he was curious of the other supernatural beings around them. A drink or two wouldn't hurt. He made his way to the bar counter, Michael and Marko trailing behind him (he lost Paul long ago), and the blonde girl, who he still had to get a name for, was watching them. She took a place behind the counter, getting ready for their approach.

"Hello again," she chirped delightfully. No one was even going to bother asking if she was even old enough to tend a bar.

"Hi," Marko said less-than-enthusiastically.

"May I help—?" She stopped when a woman, dressed as promiscuous as her—the brunette she was talking to before, Dwayne recognized—put a hand on her shoulder.

"Candy, darling," she drawled. She had a thick southern accent, which clashed just slightly with the image she was building, dressed in all red—at least in Marko's opinion. Her teeth gleamed white when she smiled. "You know the rules…"

The young girl—_Candy_ (Dwayne wondered if that was a "stage name," since, really, who named their kid that?—averted her eyes bashfully. She muttered an apology.

Dwayne raised his eyebrows. _Rules?_

"Our newest formal guests," she went on, eyeing them all up appreciatively. "We didn't see you in line." Marko shrugged, and Dwayne couldn't help but notice how the statement was more of a question, aimed directly at their curly-haired friend. His mouth opened to ask Marko, but then he shut up, thinking better of it at the moment. "Otherwise, I would have sought to it personally that you were all _introduced_. I don't think we know y'all."

Her continuous use of the word "we" was beginning to make Michael antsy all over again. Who the hell was she talking about? He wasn't sure he wanted to stick around long enough to find out…

Dwayne felt it like a slap in the face; the looks they were receiving. Eyes trailing up and down their bodies, some of the guests even offering fuck-me looks when he glanced at them. If they weren't looking at him that way, then they were definitely looking at _someone _like that. It made him even more uncomfortable, if that was possible.

"We were just about to leave," Dwayne told the woman carefully, taking a step back. "Go fetch him," he told Marko, referring to Paul.

Candy pouted slightly and the older girl next to her let her smile slip, her sweet expression becoming tart and suspicious in an instant.

"I insist you stay, though," she pressed. There was something there that Dwayne barely perceived—the dark tint to her, giving off the impression either they didn't have a choice, or this was a warning of some sort.

"No, thanks," he responded, his own temper growing tight. It was all he had to keep most of the edge out of his voice. For now. "Let's go," he said, turning to Michael, who was more than willing to comply.

Dwayne turned his back, his arm finding its way into Michael's as they took one step away from the bar. They would rather not look behind them until they were outside. And then: "Without your blonde friend?"

They ignored her and pressed on.

Someone screamed and both Michael and Dwayne jumped from how close and loud it sounded, but it turned out to only be from excitement; someone with sharp teeth was getting really close to a human's neck. She just wasn't aware of the danger. Yet.

_We're leaving _now.

Dwayne gripped Michael's arm with a fierceness that may have hurt if it were any tighter, just so he didn't lose him in the crowd as he pushed with all his might to _get to the door. _He could feel the atmosphere escalating.

The girl screamed again, this time for a different reason, and others joined in with her as the lights were knocked out.


End file.
